Cupid's Quiver
by Cazuki
Summary: For fills from the hetalia kink meme, pl ease review and tell me how i'm doing. I nvolves Yaoi, but not all the time, and various pairings. Most recent fill: The Discovery and Experimentation of the heart-shaped curl - Part 2 - Spamano. Couples currently represented: USUK, GreJaRy, Prucan, Spamano.
1. All cats look British in the dark USUK

**Hey guys, first story of Cupid's Quiver here.**

**This is a fill for a request which was USUK in which the Uk is transformed into a cat and America takes him in.**

**Tell me what you think and if the story should continue. Please Review.**

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It had been a stupid idea. Looking back on those foggy memories, it had been stupid to think that the laws of magic would bend to any Earth law, even those of physics, and still work properly.

One day, he didn't exactly remember the date, he had been in his lair – no, I didn't say this wrong – just off the coast of Plymouth. Now, let me make something clear, this lair isn't like the ones you see in cartoon or movies. It isn't a tall, shadowy and decrepit castle with threatening cathedral spires that seem to stab into the night sky and has an ever-so-convenient-and-ever-so-clique clap of thunder and lightning every time someone said it didn't look that bad.

England's lair was a lot more humble and practical than that (seriously, could you imagine how much willpower it would take to _not_ renovate that kind of castle?).

His lair was actually pretty homey in appearance, looking like a one floor bungalow with an expertly-tiled roof, a light cream colour scheme on the outside walls, five small windows which were dotted around the walls of the house and a tasteful oak door – not too grand, not too plain. It was something England would have bragged about- and he did, though he tended to umbrella it to all building made by the builders and craftsmen of his country – but it also had a darker interior.

Inside the above-ground floor it looked as homely as the outside, but once you got to a spiral staircase, which leads down, you started to see the true nature of the otherwise normal house. There were three or so underground rooms, all pitch black except for a few lonely candles which surround a magic circle painted on the floor in white paints, giving off an eerie glow due to the candle-light. Inside the circle are various strange symbols, some close to animals and other disfigured runic letters. Each room was like this, the only difference being the runic symbols which only someone taught in the magical arts could understand and differentiate from either being black or white magic… and the large amount of mirrors which covered the walls of one of the rooms.

Why are there mirrors on the walls? I hear you ask. Well, this is part of an experiment. To simplify things this room is the White (magic) room where the magic circle inside could be used to conduct spells of healing, good fortune or, in this case, wealth.

England had been in recession for around four years now and, with all the political dealings seeming to become increasingly useless, the British personification had stooped to desperate measures. He had come here, dressing in his precious warlock robes, to his semi-hidden air which no other country knew about, even the perverted frog, to cast a spell of wealth onto his people and get them out of recession. He knew a good spell for that, but the problem was that a wealth spell only worked on one target at a time, meaning that if England wanted his people out of recession he would have to put the spell on every single one of them, which wouldn't be possible.

In the end he had come up with a plan,

_If I hit myself with the wealth spell all my people will be affected at one time and I won't waste as much energy! That's brilliant me!_

Of course, the self-complimenting had gone on a tad bit longer than that but I'll cut that out for you. Anyway, this is why so many mirrors, which had been bought from a warehouse, now covered the walls. It would be the easiest way as wealth spells could not be inflicted on one self, so is the curse of these spells.

And now, with everything prepared, the magic book with the spells, the robes on and the magic circle checked for any flaws, of which there weren't any, England started reciting the spell, which had been written in Gaelic,

"Sultuilt piseag, sultuilt piseag, beir troimham fad bhur maoin, sultuit piseag, sultuilt piseag, beir troimham fad bhur tìr, beir troimham fad bhur gràdh, sultuit piseag, sultuilt piseag, beir dhomh fad!"

To save you looking through a translation here is a rough one:

Fat cat, fat cat, give through me all of your wealth, fat cat, fat cat, give through me all of your land, give through me all of your love, fat cat, fat, give it all to me!

While England had been reciting this spell the magic circle around him had started to glow even more, eventually turning an electric blue with off shoots of fiery orange surrounding England, whose robes flapped up as well as his undershirt and his short dirty-blond hair growing even more scruffy as it was pushed and pulled up down and around by the sheer amount of energy surrounding him. His emerald eyes were alight with hidden power and when he said the last syllable the energy released itself, firing out from the magic circle and instead of hitting a wall where it would seep out and choose a target it hit the reflective surface of one of the mirrors and came back, the energy fireball coming back and England having just enough time to turn to it before it hit him full on in the face and he fell backwards, his mind clouding and his vision growing dark before he had time to register any pain from the fall or the shock from how much the concentrated magic ball had knocked him down.

The world grew black and silent and the room as well, the candles having blown out from the spell. It stayed like this for a few seconds more and then there was the sound of heavy feet tromping down the spiral staircase and a loud, slightly obnoxious American accent which anyone could recognize coming from behind the closed door of the white room and then a loud slamming noise as the door was opened and hit the wall to the side of it because too much force had been used.

America, standing there in all his glory, with scruffy blond hair with a gravity-defying curl, sky blue eyes and that bomber jacket he had loved so much from WW2 on, shouted into the room with no concern as to how loud he was being in such a powerful place.

"Hey Englnad, dude, you in here? I couldn't find you at your house so I thought you came your witch's lair or something!"

Oh yeah, I might have forgotten to mention that America had come over for a visit, despite the fact that England was busy and had protested, and had been looking for him for a little while now, coming to this place he had found by accident as a child. There was no response though and America was about to give p when he heard a strange noise.

Was it… a purring sound? The larger yet younger nation looked around the pitch black room again, seeing nothing and deciding to take the small handheld torch he kept on his person in situations like these, turning it on and the small, almost blue light, sending light into the room and onto the seemingly discarded warlock's robes. There seemed to be nobody in them but as America guided the light down slowly he saw there was a lump in the robes where something was balled up. He walked over slowly, feeling like Indiana Jones in his first movie, and knelt down to the robes, ignoring the magic circle as one of England's stupid magic things and slowly, ever so slowly, lifted a corner of the robes to reveal-


	2. All cats look British in the Dark-Part 2

- a cat. Yes, a cat. A Scottish fold, in fact. The Scottish fold was mostly a white cat but moving the light showed it had a splotch of ginger fur around it's left eye as well as on its backside, its tail fluffy and also ginger, waving slightly as it slept comfortably. As America moved the torch light to the cat's face again he noticed that the cat also had strange bushy eyebrows as England did.

"Whoa" America said, dragging out the 'o' quite significantly as he looked at the cat over and over again. He didn't know that England had a cat! "dude, that guys gone soft if he has someone like you. I wonder what you're doing down here though… did England keep you locked up in here for experiments"

Before any substantial amount of reason could penetrate the American's skull he was already imagining Britain in that weird cloak, laughing evilly and the cat shaking in absolute fear as England tried out malevolent things on him. America himself shuddered from the image and quickly scooped up the still sleeping cat, slowly awaking it from its slumber.

England ended up waking from his impromptu nap to a rather loud cry,

"Don't worry kitty-cat, America the hero will save you from England's sweaty hands!"

The first thing England thought of doing when he heard that was to shout 'my hands are not sweaty you idiot!' but as the words left his mouth he jerked when he heard instead of British-accented syllables, fairly quiet mewling.

That was when he started to notice other things too, like how he suddenly felt like he had lost a good two thirds of his weight and how he felt much shorter than normal and how he felt like he had put a rather warm jacket on and ho-

America rudely interrupted his train of thought and increasing panic by looking down at the cat in his hands and smiling that too dazzling and perfect smile at him and saying

"Hey, you're awake, that's good, hello little kitty, my name's America"

With the cat's eyes now open America could see that the feline had sharp emerald eyes, which seemed to be looking partially worried right now.

"Aw, don't worry kitty, I won't hurt you~" for emphasise he hugged the cat, maybe a little too hard and the cat started to struggle and scratch at America's face, catching him on the cheek, making America drop him onto the floor.

"Ow!" the American nation yelped as he covered the scratch which the cat had etched into his face and was now leaking a small bit of blood. "what'd you do that for!"

The guilty cat in question growled in response, England fully knowing now in his mind that he couldn't speak, though he tried.

Don't hug me you git! You were going to crush me!

England's fur went on end and his tail raised, baring his new-found fangs at the American.

By now England had fully realized what had happened, though he didn't know why. He had been transformed into a cat by the wealth spell and now he had to change himself back. He walked backwards to the discarded warlocks cloak and tried to recite the reversion spell but every time he tried it just came out as fervent meowing and nothing happened.

Crap, crap, crap, crap! Don't tell me I'm stuck like this!

He started to get worried again but was again stopped as America, who had snuck up behind him, grabbed him and held him close, snickering as the Scottish fold struggled in his super-human grip.

"That was a super mean thing to do kitty-cat, you've been here too long"

Still holding the struggling England-cat, America slowly walked out of the pitch room, leaving the discarded torch behind as he closed the door again and walked up the spiral staircase to the above-ground floor and looking around found a cardboard box which had used to house some kind of kitchen and seemed to be big enough for the cat. With some effort he managed to place the cat inside and stop it long enough from getting out that he could find some duck tap and close the box, shutting the cat inside. He took a pencil as well and jabbed a few air-holes in the side and top of the box and then gave an accomplished sigh, smiling triumphantly as he said,

"There! Now kitty-dude I'm gonna take you to my place so you can be happy again! It'll be awesome and I'm sure England won't mind, he always says I should take more interest in his animals!"

There were loud mews from the box but America simply took this as sounds of happiness rather than the various obscenities that they were.

I am England you imbecile! Let me out of this box this instance and get me down to the White room so I can change myself back!

His complaints were unheeded though as suddenly England's world grew very bumpy as the box was picked up and carried out of the house by the now enthusiastic nation. He'd never had a cat before, the closest thing he had to pets being the whale he kept in the pool in his backyard and Tony the Alien, and now that he had one he was getting excited as to what he would do when he brought him home. Outside was a fairly standard black car, in which America placed the box onto the back seat and drove off.

"Oh, I forgot" he said as he was driving, turning back to the cat and almost swerving as a result, "you need a name kitty-dude! You don't have a collar so I guess England never named you"

I have a name you idiot and watch the damn road! England mewed but was ignored as America went through all the options in his head.

"Hey, how about Spitfire?" he said and a displeased meow came from the box, even America seemed to understand that the cat didn't like the name "Hero,then?" another hiss, "nope".

This went on for a long while, America giving names to England-cat and every time hearing a fierce rebuke from said feline. Along the way, he found a pet store, and, deciding that bringing the cat back in a cardboard box wouldn't be the best thing, he entered, looking around for a while until he found a good-sized and simple carrier.

He politely asked the female cashier for the box and some kitty supplies, flashing her his smile while England-cat silently fumed inside the box,

Don't use that dumb smile of yours on her! She'll be struck dumb just like you!

Wait… why did England care who the American smiled at? Sure it was annoying to see him smile at somebody and then that somebody making googly eyes at him when he wasn't looking but he had never said, or really thought, anything about it before.

The transformation… it's just the transformation making me tired and not able to think straight, I don't care who that idiot smiles at… I don't.

Soon after England-cat could hear the duck-tape which was trapping him in the box be torn off and a pair of large hands quickly invade the box and grab him. He struggled and clawed at the hands, causing a few scratches but ultimately he gave up to catch his breath and was thrown into a carrier and the door shut and locked with various clamps.

England-cat turned around to see America's smiling face, which was amazing considering most people who had been scratched by a cat several times would at least have some sort of frown on their face. England-cat hissed but America paid no heed as he picked up the kitty food, bowls and a few toys and paid the female cashier, whom of which blushed as she noticed she had been staring at the bespectacled American and took the money, giving him his change and then the world being bumpy but a bit more well-ventilated as he was picked up again.

The naming process continued as soon as they got out the store and England-cat had been placed back inside the car. At some point England-cat seemed to give a sigh –could cats even sigh? – and, ignoring the names now, curled up in the comfortable bottom of the carrier and fell asleep.

When America no longer heard the Scottish fold meowing and instead a low drawn out purring he looked behind him, almost swerving again as he looked inside the carrier and saw that he had fallen asleep, the cat's body rising and falling slowly with his breathing. He chuckled to himself and went on until they reached the nearest airport which allowed animals on their flights.

By the time England-cat had woken up again he found that he was no longer in America's car, he looked around furiously to find that he was now on a sort of conveyor belt, various bright lights and loud noises around him.

He felt his ears flatten against his head not from anger, but a kind of fear, most likely primal fear but fear all the same, he curled his tail around his body, ignoring that he still found the extremity overly awkward and huddled into the corner of the carrier as everything went on around him and he was eventually moved into a now dark world, the sounds of a plane blaring in the background. It hurt England-cat's ears and just hoped that when he was in the plane it would be better.

The ensuing flight would be one of the most terrifying experiences England would ever have in his life, ever.

After the flight…

When America received England-cat he saw him shaking, his green eyes dilated with fear and wide open as he was huddled in the corner of the carrier and quietly mewing to himself.

America gave a very slight frown, the rare expression flickering over his face for just a moment before he smiled again and asked,

"Well, kitty-dude, did you have a good flight?"

England-cat looked over at America, continuing to look scared for a moment before he hissed and glared at the American. Of course he wasn't okay, he had just gone through one of the worst experiences of his nation life, with the continuous bumping around, loud noise, pitch blackness and an almost feral dog barking at him and that son-of-a-bitch American was asking if he had had a good flight!?

In part of his mind, England made a note that while the American never openly took revenge on people he could be extremely cruel at times with his words, probably something he had taught him and was now whole-heartedly regretting.

America had just chuckled at the hissing and had carried the cat away, as well as his suitcase, walking to the Airport's parking area and looking around until he found his normal car, a top of the line American brand with go faster stripes and a wing on the back making it look kind of cool and old-fashioned at the same time.

England-cat was put in the back-seat and America drove out of the airport and into the bright sun of New York. It was okay in England, after all, he had grown up there, but America would always be his home and he breathed in deeply, opening window to let the sour smell of car exhaust fumes seep into the car and almost gas England-cat.

After the drive they eventually got to America's house, a rather modern building with large windows, walls jutting out at weird angles, a bright colour scheme and almost plastically looking walls which made the place seem to ooze showing off.

My architecture is still better…

England-cat murmured in his head and out loud, though America didn't hear him as he opened the back-seat door and carried it inside, struggling for a moment to hold both his suitcase, the carrier and his keys to open the door all at the same time.

Eventually he managed though and kicked the door open with his feet, hearing it thwack against a wall as he walked inside and proclaimed,

"Welcome to your new home kitty-dude! I'm sure you'll love it here eventually, don't worry, I won't let England get his hands on you again!"

England-cat sighed again, deciding it wasn't worth his energy to try and unsuccessfully correct the American again, and felt himself be carried to the living-room, which was furnished with surprisingly modest furniture, though most of it looked too plump for England's liking,

Finally he felt himself be put down and the clamps of the carrier come undone. He pricked his ears, his tail wagging quickly as he waited for an opening and quickly jumped out of the carrier and onto the carpeted floor of America's house.

America chuckled as he saw and thought how excited the new cat must be and then he remembered something.

"Hey, kitty-dude, I was thinking all about it on the plane ride home, I even stayed up because of it, and I have the perfect name for you!"

England turned around maybe a bit too quickly and felt a bit of jet-lag take him, though he tried his best to hide it. He looked at America with disdain but America, predictably remained unheeded as he spoke.

"How about Iggy?!" The American said excitedly.

England paused, the name didn't sound that bad, the '-ee' sound at the nd made it sound overly cute and pet sounding but it was somewhat original and it was definitely better than being called 'Kitty-dude' all the time.

He turned away and made one very short and almost inaudible meow sound.

America seemed to brighten up even more at this and rejoiced rather loudly.

"Yay! Kitty-du-, oh, I mean Iggy likes the name!"

He continued rejoicing for a short while and didn't noticed as England-cat, now deemed Iggy, padded off to test his new environment.

Now that he was in America it would take him a while before he could get back to England. Hopefully the government would be able to look after his people while he was gone. He might as well treat this as a long vacation.

It'll be fine, I'll just rest up… yeah…

And so started the unintentional and temporary cohabiting of England and America.


	3. All cats look British in the Dark-Part 3

The first few days were… awkward, to say the least. In that time both of the nations, well to put it more correctly, one nation and one nation-cat, had had to adjust to each other living in the same space, both of them being presented with new problems and challenges unlike any they had ever seen before, which is saying something considering how much they had been through, together and apart.

For America this involved having to go to a nearby pet store and being bombarded by leaflets full of beginner pet owner's advice, vet phone numbers a dozen or so cat food coupons, all of which had a phone number, or even the occasional flirtatious winky, of both males and females on the flip-side (which America didn't notice, obviously) and finally a single 'The good side about neutering your cat' leaflet.

On returning home America had off-loaded the substantial pile of coloured paper (and dating opportunities) onto one of his sofas. After coming back from his lunch, a super large burger with everything and a double portion of fries, he saw that all of the cat food coupons and the neutering leaflet had been torn to shreds by the rather sharp, secretly jealous and ball-protecting claws and teeth of a certain Scottish fold named Iggy.

From this England realized a good point in being a cat was that if their owner was starting to get indignant and annoyed at the fact that they had saved their asses from a load of hurt, in more ways than one, while admittedly protecting their right to a reproductive system that worked, they could just walk off like they couldn't understand a single thing their owner was saying.

But it wasn't all shredding phone numbers with claws and sleeping lazily in the sun, England-cat had difficulties too. For one he had had to eat that vile which those liars in the pet food industry called 'Prime Grade Cat Food' and not grow crazy lusting over a proper cup of tea and scones. It even got to the point where America's burger's looked appetising, so you can tell how serious this was.

There was also the great indignity of having to… do his business, in the public eye of a litter-box and go through the great embarrassment of having the American see it every morning and make a bunch of lame and sometimes even sexually annotated jokes and puns about ***This has been censored so that the audience's eyes will not be forever burned with the image of these words*** and seriously man why do people even make that stuff!

Okay, anyway…

After about a week or so the two unlikely, and by unlikely I mean as unlikely as people breathing air, cohabitants had fit themselves into a good, working pattern.

America would wake up early to go to work; Iggy would sleep until 12 o'clock. America would work on various late documents and be shouted at yet again for not having finished them; Iggy would wander about the house, sleeping most of the time but occasionally going out back to the pool to stare at the whale in the pool, which he still thought was stupid but didn't comment on as the whale seemed to be giving him a 'you-don't-come-in-here-and-steal-my-man' look and he didn't awfully feel like he wanted to be sat on by probably a tonne worth of whale blubber and jealously.

Finally, America would come home fairly late in the evening, 8 o'clock if it was a good day and 10 on a bad one, see Iggy putting white and ginger fur all over his sofa but only sigh and walk over, flopping by his side, waking the cat and gaining a glare before being blanked.

It was on one of these kinds of nights, two weeks or so after Iggy had been transported to America and England had been so overloaded with work that he couldn't see anyone (thank you God, for making leader know how to construct an alibi), when America spoke.

Not like he didn't speak normally, in fact, normally it was a miracle when the endless voice that was America stopped playing, but today it was about something more than him whining about his work being terrible and how burgers were way better than any food, period.

It was about France.

"Can you believe it Iggy-dude?" in the time that they had been living together America had not yet stopped in using 'dude' as a suffix "Francy-pants is coming over tomorrow saying he's coming for the, what did he say?"

The American placed a thoughtful hand on his chin as he half-jokingly and half-seriously tried to remember the Frenchman's words.

After a while he remembered something, pointing above his head like there was a convenient thought cloud. As he spoke he put on a French accent which was bad but not something England wouldn't say was accurate.

"Oh yeah, it was 'to better the relationship between our two nations and for your sweet papa to check up on you~'. Hah, hah! I never even called him that, it was my brother who did and he stopped that centuries ago!"

England-cat hadn't really been paying attention to what America had said, still turned away from him and acting like he was sleeping. Part of him didn't want the Frenchman to come and see him in this state, even if he did change back if France ever found out what had happened he would never let him live it down. It had been just in the last few centuries that he had finally seemed to drop the 'Paedophiliac-love-of-America' joke (probably because when he did England would remind him the way he had looked at Romano when he was younger and then, if Romano didn't get him, Spain would). He was not going through something like that again!

But another part, most likely his new-found feline part, couldn't care less if the Frenchie saw him, he'd probably just think he was an average cat and he would never kn-

He was distracted from his thoughts as America grabbed him suddenly and brought him to his chest, hugging him close. This had been something England had had to get used to as well.

When America had a bad day at work or was feeling lonely he would always try and hug England-cat. Of course, England didn't like it and would always scratch him when he got a hold of him, being released soon after. So lately the American had adopted 'black op' tactics to try and get England-cat to like being cuddled.

First, he tried being really nice to England-cat all the time and waiting until he seemed to be content and then grab him, almost crushing his skull with his hands. That failed.

Then, he tried baiting England-cat by placing cat treats on his lap and hoping he would eat them. That failed.

He'd even tried playing dead and trying to make England-cat sit on top of him to see if he was alive. That failed epically and he had overslept on the couch that night, meaning he was late for work the next morning.

And so here they were again, America trying to calm Iggy down by calling his name in a cooing voice, which only annoyed England more, and England trying to claw America's face again.

"Iggy…" America said slowly, looking half-serious now, his grip loosening slightly.

England stopped struggling as he heard the American's tone and looked up at him, emerald eyes questioning and bushy eyebrows raised.

_What?_

He meowed quietly.

"Do you think England is mad at me or something?"

Whoa, that was a change of subject. England-cat couldn't hide a small look of surprise on his face. He stayed silent for a while before meowing something back, happy the American couldn't understand cat.

_No, but you did kind of piss him off by kidnapping him, you idiot…_

"Yeah, you're right" America said, his expression serious for a few moments more before he smiled again, that… lonely smile, "he wouldn't hate me. It's just… well… I guess I have this strange feeling".

America suddenly let go of England-cat completely, though England-cat, now interested, didn't move unknown o himself and America.

"Oh god!" America laughed, but not his genuine laugh, "why am I talking to a cat about this? I'm going as crazy as England with all that magic mumbo-jumbo… maybe I shouldn't have gone to the witch's lair of his… whatever, you can't understand me anyway… I guess I'm worried or something like that… sure he's a distant old fart but you at least hear stuff from other people about him… his bosses are being so sneaky and they won't let me talk to him so I guess I'm getting worked up now…"

He paused then looked back down at England-cat, who hadn't moved from his lap.

"Oh well… I guess he's just really busy… Yeah! He's totally fine, I don't tell anybody this, so you're lucky Iggy but that old man is more awesome than… well… okay less awesome than Superman and me but pretty damn awesome! When he's less busy I'll go over and visit him and I can tease him about his eyebrows and his cooking and he can insult me about how I talk and what I eat! It'll be great!"

He suddenly got up, throwing England-cat off his lap, who landed somewhat gracefully on the floor, though his tail twitched a bit from shock and his small body hunched slightly.

"See you later Iggy-dude! I gotta sort out some stuff for when Francy-pants visits!"

And with that the American ran off to sort out various things leaving England-cat alone.

Can cat's blush?

Because right now England could swear he was lighting up like a Christmas tree.

_Well… that was… new…_


	4. All cats look British in the Dark-Part 4

The next day, England-cat had been sleeping. After America had run out of the room the Englishman had decided to just forget everything the other had said in that conversation. He was just tired and making up fantasies in his head, there was no way that was why he always making fun of him but continued to come over. It couldn't be, no matter what…

That didn't mean it was easy though. Anyway, it was about 10 o'clock, early for England's new routine, when the ringtone of the front door-bell went off, a rather bad sounding version of 'Star-spangled Banner' playing and jostling England-cat from his slumber.

Then there was a loud shout of,

"Coming!" from an all too familiar source and a loud stamping of feet as America ran downstairs from upstairs where he had been doing some documents which were only a few months late for their deadline.

England, realizing sleep was nothing but a forlorn dream now, got up from his bed of a small corner of the room where America had placed some old sheets so he wouldn't shed everywhere, and walked to the door just as America opened the door to France.

France, for the longest time he had been to England the embodiment of not just his nation, but of general perverseness, bad food and, of course, chickening out of most every conflict (seriously he was almost half as bad as the Italians). Nothing had changed about him but from his new perspective he could smell the overpowering stench of cheap cologne, wine and women.

He was ignored for a moment as France walked forward to America, hands outstretched in search of a hug and saying something, using that voice England knew he performed on the people he flirted with,

"America~ Mon petit ami, give you uncle a hug, no?"

America quietly declined the affection by side-stepping and changing the topic.

"Hey France, dude, did you know I got a cat recently?" he said, smiling somewhat nervously and pointing at England-cat, who wasn't pleased at being used as a sacrifice. He didn't have much time to think about it though as quickly France's interest turned to him, England-cat wanting to claw his face and run away when he came clambering up to him and bent down.

"Aw~ such an adorable chat. What is his name America?"

"Iggy." America said, trying not to sound too relieved but ultimately failing in England's eyes. He kept talking, "I found him at England's place, sleeping in a dark room with some kinda weird clock over him, I don't know what eyebrows was doing but it couldn't have been anything good so I saved the little guy and brought him here."

"Iggy? Wouldn't have Cutie been a better name?"

England-cat hissed at the suggestion and took a swipe at the Frenchman's face, though France just stepped back and the paw only whizzed by his face.

"Feisty, isn't he?" He said, chuckling that know-it-all chuckle that England hated with a passion and always had, "anyways," he said, turning back to America "now that we have finished our introductions out of the way, why don't we have a little chat, hm?"

America smiled, trying not to look disappointed his plan of distracting the Frenchman had failed as he spoke,

"Sure, man, you want to go talk in the office or…?"

"The living room is fine, mon cher, it's always so stuffy if those offices of yours, something you probably inherited from Angleterre, such a shame…"

England cursed but it only came out as an annoyed meow, which France ignored.

"That's cool!" America said, making an extravagant gesture to the door of the living-room. France entered first and America behind him. England stayed outside the door for a moment.

_Is it really worth my time going in there and listening to them? That'll throw me off schedule…_

He stayed still arguing with himself before he decided this was just wasting more time and he walked in, sitting in a corner of the room away from the couch where America and France were now sitting, chatting with one another in a matter which most would have said was amiable.

He had come in halfway through the perverted frog saying something.

"—so anyway, mon cher-"

"Dude, can't you call me America? I don't really remember what 'mon chair' means but it doesn't sound good to me."

France smiled, sometime he was happy that America had been raised by England so that he could flirt with him in another language and not get caught because he wouldn't really understand him.

"Of course, Amérique, but really it is nothing for you to worry about…" while he was saying this he shuffled more towards America, which America missed but England sure didn't, now glaring daggers at the Frenchman.

_Frog! Do you have no shame at all in your body!?_

The conversation continued, neither reacting to the dramatically depowered death glare of the British-cat.

"Anyway…" America said, getting a strange feeling again but unable to distinguish what it was (curse you air-headedness!), "how's your economy going France?" He was searching for a conversation topic, after all there was no business to talk about and since England wasn't there, there weren't any arguments to be had, leaving the conversation without a talking point.

"Oh, quite well mon ch- I mean Amérique, and how about yours?"

That set America off. He liked to complain about things, but, unlike Britain, he did it in a way which made it sound more like he was just poking fun at the problem rather than having either a full on rant or pout about it.

But, due to the 'walking on a knife-edge' economy of his country at the moment as well as other things, it had become one of the few subjects he would actually complain about.

"Terrible man, I might just have to invent a new word to describe how bad it is right now, be a proper Wordsworth… hmm…" America paused to actually think of a word, France using this as a chance to move closer to the American, his eyes flashing with what England knew was the look he gave when he was starting to close in on his prey. He stopped when America announced something, "oh here's one, terribothal?"

"Aw, mon petit Amérique, is it really so bad?" France said, only half with genuine concern.

America sighed, a rarity,

"Maybe not…" he perked up again "but you should see how badly my bosses bust my ass about it! I mean, it used to be simple, have some agreements here, maybe a bit of black-ops training there and make movies the rest of the time but now it's all just work, work, work, and not awesome work either, like boring desk job work! Man, I'm the awesome hero America, I should be playing the new COD and watching some of those weird cartoons Japan makes, instead I'm writing spread sheets!" He paused in his rant, seeming to have thought of something and then slumped back down.

He stayed still for a while, just enough time for France to fully close the gap between them.

"Amérique? What's wrong?" he moved his hand and touched America, it was a light touch, could easily have been mistaken as him trying to comfort the other, but England knew better, he glared again.

"It's fine, it's just, I'm complaining about this but England hasn't even been able to speak with anybody, he's probably got a lot more work than me…"

There was no pause, France gave a small smile.

"Aw, don't worry, England is used to it, he's always been a busy-body ever since he was young, I wouldn't be surprised if he's going through one of his 'I-don't-want-to-talk-to-anyone-because-they'll-distract-me' moods."

Then there was the final nail in the coffin.

France _squeezed_ America's leg, nothing hidden at all, no decency, no honour, no shame.

England-cat hissed and padded quickly over. Desperate time called for desperate measures and since England was in no shape to beat France into dust, he had to do this.

He pawed at America's trouser leg and instead of his normal, annoyed meow, he gave one looking for attention, or at least that had been what he had been going for.

Both America and France looked down, France's hand still in place but no longer truly focused on the task it had been set out to do.

"What's wrong Iggy? You sick? You sound weird."

_I'm making a mockery of myself for you, you star-spangled idiot!_

He just meowed that attention-wanting meow again and continued to paw at America's trouser leg.

"You wanna come up here?" America said, eyes going wide, of course this had never happened before, it was surprising and it made him happy. He stretched down, picking up England-cat, who twitched out of reflex but didn't run or scratch or bite like he normally did. He just let himself relax and get picked up by the American.

He could feel the American's strength coiled in those arms and suddenly remembered why he didn't like being picked-up or hugged. The American's grip was way too strong. He would have struggled but then remembered why he was doing this and just let himself relax.

He was placed onto America's lap, where France's perpetrating hand still lay. England took a swipe at it and this time it connected, making France withdraw his hand quickly as a thin trickle of blood seeped out of the new scratch.

"Ow! That bâtard scratched me!"

America laughed as he placed England-cat on his laugh and looked at France

"Yeah, he does that a lot with me too."

"You're kidding me. He looks like he's living it up with you right now." France replied.

"Yeah, it's the first time he's let me do this willingly actually…" (if you ignore the time before which he didn't remember).

"Humph!" France pouted.

England-cat smiled a little inside but now he was stuck like this, he had saved America from France but now he was going to be crushed by the American's strength. His lungs were going to be punctured by his ribs and his skull would crack and his ba-

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his head, a warm hand. England-cat tensed, prepared for the inevitable. Then he felt the hand relax and slowly start to stroke his fur.

At first, England couldn't feel anything, shocked by the fact he wasn't feeling excorticating pain right now. Then he felt the friction of the hand against his fur and the warmth of the hand seep into his body.

It felt amazing. England had never let America get this far with him, always getting away before this happened. Now he regretted having done that. America was being surprisingly soft, cooing in his ear again despite the company and England had to fight this strange sound which threatened to come from him.

In an effort to stop the sound he moved his head up and away slightly. America took this as a completely different sign though.

"Oh, you wanna get stroked there?" he said. England tried to meow his refusal,

_No! I don't want you to stroke th- ehh…_

As he had been going through this he felt America move a finger to scratch the bit of neck he had exposed. It felt better, more sensitive than the other places and England purred as soon as he got over the shock.

He tried to convince himself this wasn't right, but his body ignored his mind and soon he was leaning into the scratching, purring like a motor boat as he closed his green eyes and his eyes brows seemed to lower in content, his tail even swaying peacefully.

Meanwhile France, looking at this situation, was confused, which was rare for him. America was smiling a different smile than normal; it wasn't just his goofy smile. Was that… a smile of love?

The cat too, who seemed to be much more intelligent than any other cat France had ever seen, seemed to be enjoying the contact in a much more intimate way than you would expect for a cat simply being petted and scratched under the chin by its master.

The thought of flirting now gone from his mind it started to wander to the cat, who America said was Iggy. He was intelligent, aggressive but emotional. Much like a certain…!

France suddenly got up, shocking both America and the cat out of their own little world.

"Dude, what's wrong?" America said, half-confused at the Frenchman's actions and half-annoyed he had had to stop stroking Iggy.

"O-oh, n-nothing, it's just I remembered I have something important to do!" He started to leave the room.

He stopped in the door frame and looked back at the two shortly then said

"I'll see you two later!"

And with that he left the house, leaving great confusion in his wake.

This would be a time in which America and England would share a single thought; what the hell is his problem?


	5. All cats look British in the Dark-Part 5

And life seemed to continue on normally after that, except for a few small changes of course.

After what had happened when the frog had visited, England–cat had started to think of America petting him a guilty pleasure. Of course it was against the rules of a gentleman to show your desires openly so now, once every few days, when America got home England-cat would do what he normally did (namely ignoring him completely).

And when America tried to grab him he still struggled, albeit less than before. He made it a rule that if America tried to pet him three times he would make a show of 'begrudgingly giving up' and then let himself be petted until he was content, always trying to keep up the image of begrudging but always eventually turning into a loudly-purring relaxed ball of fuzz.

For a while everything was nice, peaceful and relaxed. England-cat could just lie in the sun all day and occasionally be brave (he preferred the term 'be bothered' but he knew he was still scared slightly of being crushed by a whale) enough to tease America's whale from the safety of the closed door with a small window which he cracked open so he couldn't be soaked like he had been the first time.

Then he could rest on the sofa and have America come home and pet him. It was a good life.

But, sadly, everything good must come to an end. The end of England's 'extended vacation' started when one day England-cat had woken up from a late morning nap and, bleary-eyed and unfocused, had padded through the house, following the path which went from the living-room in his house to the kitchen.

When he was fully awake he found himself in the ground floor bathroom, on top of the toilet and fumbling around with the various soaps on the sink, looking for his favourite Earl Grey.

_What am I doing!?_

He exclaimed, mewling loudly as he jumped back in shock, his tail raised and his fur on end.

When he realized what he had done he sighed (can cat's sigh?) and sat down, curling his tail around his body. How long had it been since he had had a proper tea? Or made some scones? Or watched some cricket? Or (god forbid) gone to a world meeting or seen any of the other nations except for America and that one visit from France a week or so ago (ever since then not hearing of him at all)?

It hit him with the weight of a freight train as he realized he missed all those things, but somehow he had forgotten them, living in this seemly peaceful existence of sleeping and eating and… getting attention from America.

England growled to himself,

_God dammit! I've been so selfish, not like a gentleman at all… I need to get home…_

England knew that, now, there was going to be a pile of work waiting for him when he got back, but he had to go, he was a nation, dammit, not a house-cat (no matter how much he liked it)!

Then came the next problem; how?

How was he going to get back to his glorious country? He couldn't speak like this and the spell was permanent unless reversed, again bringing up the problem that he couldn't speak.

He started brainstorming.

He could write a note, but that wouldn't work because:

1) It would most likely be unreadable the way he was now.

And

2) America would just ignore it and throw it away.

He could pretend to be sick and get America to bring him back to his home-land for a cure, but that wouldn't work because:

1) He doubted he'd make the connection to take him back to England for a long time.

And

2) He'd probably just take him to one of his own vets and he was not risking his balls again.

Eventually, England-cat sighed again and gave up, padding out of the bathroom and into the living-room and sitting on the couch to await America's arrival home.

He had to think of something, and fast (he could almost feel the hours of work piling up onto him), but right now nothing seemed like it would work.

So he laid his head down and took another nap, so he would wake up when America returned and hopefully he would get a chance for America to take him home.

The chance came, albeit in one of the weirdest ways possible.

When America had come home he had walked into the front room as normal and saw Iggy sitting where he normally sat, he seemed to look sadder than normal though, like he worried about something, despite the fact cats shouldn't feel worried.

He walked over, dumping his stuff as he flopped down on the couch and made Iggy bounce up slightly due to the displacement his weight caused.

"Hey, Iggy!" America said in greeting, trying to grab England-cat and getting a hiss in return, as per usual, though this time it seemed half-hearted. America had noticed that Iggy seemed to be warming to him lately, letting him stroke him sometimes and seeming to have settled into life in his home, so seeing him like this, like he had used to be, disturbed him (though he'd never admit that).

This made his mind move onto the subject of England again.

He'd been trying to call him, text him, anything, but still had gotten no response accept a copy-pasted message about him being busy and unable to talk to him. He had asked the other nations if they had seen England anywhere but they also said they hadn't heard from him, his leaders coming to world meetings instead of him.

America was worried, there was no doubt about that and it had become a hot topic of gossip, especially in the case of Hungary, who had not-so-secretly giving him a book with the title 'How to deal with your Tsundere English Boyfriend'. America had wanted to throw the book away but, halfway through the book making an uneventful trip to the trash can, he wondered if it would help him with England, if he ever saw him again that was.

So he'd kept the book, hiding it of course, and swore to himself he would cross out the 'boyfriend' part when he was near a permanent marker.

He sighed, a more common occurrence since he hadn't had England to annoy, and reached for the remote, turning on the TV to its default channel, the news.

"—and that is why" the female presenter on screen said, seeming to have just finished a report "the Mayan prophecy was complete and utter bullcr-"

Suddenly the female's voice and image was cut off screen by an alarm sound and the words 'Special Report' flashing up on screen, seeming to have been written with pen on a card.

A voice broke through the noise, distinctly non-American but trying to put the accent on.

"Hello…" the voice paused and a whisper could be heard "what's the line say?"

"Don't talk to me, just say it!" another voice, hushed and annoyed said.

"Fine, no need to get snappy! Hello… de-weds?"

"You said it wrong, it's 'dudes', twpsyn."

"Oh, geez a gobble, you son of a bitch, anyway, a story from England" from the side there was a small whisper of "bastard better appreciate this…"

Another voice took over and the image changed, this time to a crappy image seemingly filmed by a very unsteady cam-corder, probably handheld. The image was of a model-building, zoomed into to look like a normal one, despite the fact you could see the edges clearly due to the jittery camera showing the grass behind it.

"C-currently in L-london" a stuttering voice said slowly "there are large riots in the streets following the 2012 scare" There was a pause then a hushed "it's your cue!"

"Oh, right!" another higher voice chimed in. Then the sounds of somebody trying to act like a crowd came through, badly acted voices and sound effects included.

Just when England-cat thought it couldn't get any worse a match was lit and put on the model house, which caught immediately and started burning like the paper and cardboard cut-out it was.

"We need help, England needs help…" there was a dramatic pause then, "we need a hero!"

Then the report went out again as quickly as it had come on and everything continued as if nothing had happened.

There was a moment of silence. England-cat would have face-palmed if it didn't mean scratching his own face. That had been…

"Oh my god!" America suddenly shouted, shocking England-cat, "England's in trouble, I gotta help him!"

America was up in a heartbeat and grabbing stuff he thought he needed, some odd clothes, sunglasses (for disguise purposes), a toy water gun (unloaded of course but you never know when you'll have to fight somebody) and some other odd objects and then threw them all into a suitcase.

He was going to England and suddenly England-cat saw his chance, no matter how stupid it was. He meowed loudly enough for America to look over at him for a second, obviously still rushing, and then ran over to the pet-carrier he had originally been brought in. He meowed again.

_Come on and get a clue you wanker!_

Luckily America actually seemed to be thinking (or wasn't and would just go along with anything) and shouted, like he had just had the best idea in the world,

"Oh yeah, you can come with me Iggy and fend off anyone who wants to hurt me! You'll be the Bonnie to my Clyde, the Robin to my Batman, the… what's the name of that girl from the Spiderman fil-"

England-cat meowed again, both in urgency and annoyance and America stopped thinking about that name to run over and undo the clamp locks of the pet-carrier, England-cat jumping inside and then the clamps being done up again and America picking everything up and running off to his car. England-cat silently said goodbye to America's house and his other 'pets'.

And so America went to go save England, who didn't need to be saved because he was right bloody there beside him (though later he would swear to high heaven it had been because it had been an insult to Hollywood how bad the 'special report' had been and had gone to England to teach them a lesson in film-making).

Of course, it was hell having to go through the plane ride again. The second most terrifying experience of England's life in fact, beaten only by the first time.

Though this time he was more distracted as he was thinking about how, when he was back in England, was going to become human again and if not, find someone who could change him back.

After they landed, they quickly went through security checks, America bouncing all the while.

Though his furious brain-storming England let out a thought he would never tell to anyone, not even sugar-bunny,

_He's this worried… for me?_

After security America quickly rented a car, earning a look of confusion from the man lending the cars, before he was given a huge tip and then he smiled graciously and gave America the keys to an old ocean blue car.

America then moved England-cat into the car and drove, almost breaking the speed limit multiple times, to the heart of London and England's main house.

Once there he picked up England-cat from the back and ran inside, knocking away any guards who tried to stop him, causing the pet carrier to wave around and throw England-cat around everywhere as well as causing one of the clamp locks to break under the pressure.

They eventually came up to a corridor, the end of which had a large pair of double doors which lead into England's office. He ran forward when suddenly England's bosses blocked the door, along with five or so guards.

"America, stop! We told you England can't see yo-"one of them said.

"Get out of my way!" America shouted, cutting him off "I gotta save England!" he ran forward and so did the guards.

He punched one in the face with the hand that had not been carrying England-cat's carrier. The guard went down. Then two came at the same time, fists out (after all, shooting a country was a real big no-no, even if they didn't die). But, before they could hit America, he jumped up using his inhuman strength and kicked one in the face and ended up on the shoulders of the other, launching off of him, causing him to fall and America to be launched into the fourth, absent-mindidly he used the hand that was carrying England-cat's carrier to hit the guard in the face.

The other clamp lock broke and suddenly England-cat fell out, tumbling to the floor in a dizzy lump.

America looked back at his fallen comrade-in-fur and dropped the broken carrier and falling into a crowd of guards,

"Iggy!" He shouted.

If you want an accurate description of the scene right now, in the simplest of words, it would be like that moment in a film when two allies are forcibly separated from one another after a dramatic fight scene, except a lot more confusing.

In America's fear for Iggy he didn't notice himself being held back by some burly guards.

"Iggy-dude, are you alright!?"

England-cat blinked. He couldn't really fathom what was happening at the moment. He remembered America rushing, then his leaders and some guards came out and… why was he on the floor?

Then he heard America and tried, slowly, to get up.

Everyone in the room was staring at him, the Scottish fold who wasn't really a Scottish fold.

The nation who had been missing for a month now and had been staying with America for an 'extended vacation'.

The cat, Iggy. The personification of England.

"Would you stop putting that stupid word in every damn sentence? Git!"

England said.

There was visible shock everywhere and for a moment England didn't know what was wrong.

"What? Have you never seen a cat meow… before…?" Halfway through, he noticed.

He was articulating syllables, using his tongue, he was speaking!

He felt taller too and less warm, much less warm actually…

Was there a draught?

England looked down at himself and then he realized, he was back to normal. And completely naked!

He instantly covered himself up and blushed vividly. Everyone was still shocked but then suddenly someone snickered and burst out laughing and then it caught on to another person, and another and another until the whole place seemed to be chorusing with laughter.

America pushed away from the guards who were trying not to choke on their tears of happiness and went over to England, looking away with the lightest dustings of a blush as he offered him his prized bomber jacket to clothe himself with.

England took it gratefully and wrapped himself in it; sure he was about to die from embarrassment until he was distracted as America suddenly looked at him, grinned then suddenly swung him around and held him bridal style as he ran down the corridor again. There was further laughter after that and in the crowd both of England's leaders sighed.

"When's the next General Election James?"

"Soon, Nicky, soon…"

**Meanwhile, back with America and England.**

America had ran, carrying England, down the corridor and through a couple of adjoining corridors, covering him up with help from his jacket and trying not to look down until they came across a dark room with no-one inside.

America ran in and put England down, who was blushing blood red right up to his ears and holding the jacket around himself in a protective manner.

When England was about to say something along the lines of 'you wanker!' or 'why did you do that!?' suddenly he was hugged, it was firm but not crushing, just like how America had stroked him when he had been a cat.

Unknowingly, England felt himself purr at the warmth.

"England… I missed you…"

He heard America say. It was probably the sweetest thing he had ever said to England and if England could have blushed any more than he was he would have.

Instead, he just hugged America back, his nakedness forgotten for a moment as he spoke in his ear, using a soothing voice he only had for America, snuggling into the other's blond hair and smiling lightly.

"I was always with you… you sappy idiot…"

This peace lasted for a moment and then America broke away, looking strangely sheepish as he looked away again.

"Umm… well… we should probably find you some clothes…"

"Oh, yes!" England jerked up as he tried to cover himself again.

They looked at each other.

"Idiot"

"Tea-sucker"

"Wanker"

"Food-poisoner"

"Hollywood-nerd!"

"Drama-queen!"

"American!"

"Englishman!"

And they laughed, together.

**Meanwhile, in England's not-so-secret lair.**

"Mon dieu!" France said as he walked out of the pitch black room. He was wearing a black cloak and holding a spell book in one hand "how does Angleterre even do that?"

He walked up the stairs into the cottage floor, taking off the cloak and ritually putting it back in its place as well as the book, taking the greatest care.

"I mean, I've done spells before but that was a long time ago. I just hope son frères managed to get him here"

He sighed at the state of his hair due to the hood of the clock messing it up and the energy released during the activation of the reversal spell, it would take ages to redo now.

"I am so sending him my hair bill, that perfect do took me forever to get." He sighed again and opened the front door to leave. Then he smiled "I wonder if I should charge extra for a happy ending and beginning? Honhonhon!"

And with that he closed the door and everything fell silent again.

**And so, hope you liked it, I'll be starting up new stuff soon and don't expect thsi to be the very last thing you hear from me~**


	6. Grejary - Shinsengumi ai no romansu Full

**Now something completely different, this was done during the writing of my previous story.**

**This is for Greece/Japan/Turkey and the kink is Japan auspitising between Turkey and Greece and then bitching to America about it. If you don't know what Auspitism is, it's a concept in the webcomic Homestuck, there are references to it here so if you don't know it I suggest you wise up. For those who get the references and the overly ripped first part enjoy!**

* * *

**Shinsengumi ai no romansu.**

Romance is complex.

The problem is that whenever the subject of romance is broached it seems most people only assume there is only one type, the romance which spans a wide range of emotions, social conventions and… 'Implications for reproduction'.

There is a single symbol which we associate with romance:

3

But truthfully there is more to it than that.

The romance we know of is the 'True Love' type, denoting a root of extremely positive emotions and the subject of many of our literature, music and art. This is one people rarely find, if at all, and is said to happen once in every person's lifetime. When two people find themselves in this type they are normally referred to as a 'couple' or, if reproduction rituals have been performed, 'lovers'.

An example of this would be the relationship between Italy and Germany, though both seem to be too embarrassed to really act on it yet.

Then you have the lesser form of this, the 'Bro-love' type. This type is used to denote a strong, yet more platonic, love type in which two people seem to be drawn together by some imaginary tie and develop a strong 'friendship' with no sexual implications and/or an eternally running competition of 'one-up-man/girl-ship'.

On the rare occasion this does lead to sexual activities however, the polite and dignified terms of 'having a mistress/sir' is used, though, in less polite society, 'fuck-buddy' is the common lingo.

An example of this type is the heavily denied 'bro-love' of France and England – seriously, if they weren't drawn to each other why would they keep meeting up!

Then you have the more negative love types.

The most recognizable, though not in a romantic sense, is the 'Love to Hate' type. This type is deeply rooted in negative emotions, or at least what we see as negative. This type is similar to its polar opposite, the 'True-love' type, in the way that this pure kind of hatred or rivalry can only be sparked once in a person's lifetime and will stay with them both forever, even if the two parties are forcibly separated.

Most people in this type are referred to, depending on the severity of it, are called either 'rivals' if more platonic and flirtatious, 'enemies' if fairly serious or 'worst enemies' if it is to the extent of wishing to kill the other and/or cause them great pain.

An example of this is the dislike and rivalry between America and Russia.

In all these love types there are misunderstandings, infidelities and uneasiness. Two people in one type or relationship could think they are in another, a couple could have one person with 'true love' feelings while the other has 'love to hate' or 'bro-love' feelings and then you have the relationships that go completely out of control, flipping from 'true love' to 'love to hate' in seemingly a matter of seconds and then switching back again.

This leads on to the final main type of relationship, known as the 'threesome' or 'counselling' type. This, while not always having prominent romantic implications, is an important part of the relationship types.

This is the type of relationship in which two people with a particularly unstable relationship are monitored by someone known as a 'peace-keeper' or 'councillor' who works to stabilise the relationship to ideally fit and stay in one of the other types or, less ideally but more commonly, stay in a kind of limbo where either the two are separated without knowing how they feel or simply don't know how to interact with each other and lose interest.

To explain this relationship, which is probably one of the most interesting and complex of all of them; it seems better to me to tell you of one in more detail.

Let me tell you about Greece, Turkey and Japan.

Greece, Japan and Turkey have known each other for quite a long time, if count a good few centauries as a long time that is.

Greece and Japan, while they weren't the oldest of friends, had been friendly with each other for a fairly long time, since 1899 to be exact. They were both calm people, though Greece because he always seemed to be too busy napping to worry about things and Japan because of his reserved nature. They didn't get on each other's nerves and could sometimes be seen relaxing on a hill-side or in the ruins of Ancient Greece, exploring and talking about forgotten times.

Turkey and Japan's relationship was similar, Turkey and Japan having a mutual friendship due to Japan having helped Turkey back when a boat of his had sunk off the coast of his homeland and Japan had helped him out and then later on with Turkey helping Japan when his people needed help in 1985.

Turkey was more eccentric than Greece, always wearing an opera mask over his face and talked about all manner of weird and wonderful things, making him interesting and refreshing to talk to when Japan needed to be distracted from issues in his country.

The only problem with this was the relationship between Greece and Turkey. They had hated each other for a very long time, ever since Greece had moved out of Turkey's house when Turkey was still the Ottoman Empire.

Since then they had been against each other in four wars but, every time after, they were drawn together by their leaders and ended up being a lovey-dovey couple for a while before they started fighting again, and Japan, the common friend between the two, had been drawn inadvertently into the conflict.

And now was one of those times in which Greece and Turkey were fighting.

Japan hadn't known what the argument had originally been about, something petty he was sure, but when he had arrived the topic had quickly switched to him.

"Japan is a better friend to me than you!" Turkey shouted, his accent placing a malevolent spin on the words, "he helped me out and I helped him out! We have a mutual alliance!"

"Yeah? Well, at least I didn't have to have Japan save my ass before we became friends!" Greece shouted, his normal sleepy tone and speed of speaking forgotten, he was only like this with Turkey when they were fighting.

Turkey made a sound of indignation and then crossed his arms defensively.

"Hmph! Well, I know that Japan likes me better, you just fall asleep all the time and show him boring ruins, I take him to see my art and my excellent culture" he pulled a dramatic pose to accompany his words.

"Your opera is boring and don't you dare insult my mother you pig!"

"Bastard!"

"Jackass!"

"D-douzo you two, stop, there's no reason to fight over me, I am an ally to both of you, I value both of you the same as each other so please stop fighting." Japan jumped in, looking only slightly distressed as he tried to convince the two nations not to start another war, especially not a war over him.

The two nations didn't stop and quickly turned to him, both glaring as they said in almost complete unison,

"Then we'll fight so you'll value one of us more than the other!"

They then noticed what they had done and quickly glared back at each other.

"Don't say what I say you uncultured Greek!"

"Same at you, Turkish Malaka!"

"I know what that means, Orospu!"

"Skopianos!"

"Puşt!"

After that they both growled and then leaped at each other, punching, kicking and screaming various obscenities in and out of their native languages. Eventually they fell over but didn't notice as they continued to fight each other, using teeth and nails and fists and fe-

They were suddenly shocked when they both felt quick, strong and precise knocks on the crown of their heads and then both drawn up from the floor by the small and deceptively strong hands of Japan, pulled roughly apart from each other and held just far enough apart that they couldn't do much, if any damage, to one another.

"Can you two stop this? This is very childish, you're fully grown nations, you shouldn't be fighting like little kids in the playground!" His eyes, normally an emotionless haze of bluish-black sparked and cleared for a moment, showing a glare which could rival even Sweden's nastiest death glare.

Turkey and Greece both loved seeing Japan angry, or show any emotion for that matter, they had even established competitions before about who could get Japan to show an emotion the quickest, but they didn't like it directed at them, because they both knew Japan had been a war-lord for a reason.

"S-sorry!" they both said in unison again, adopting each to their own pose of begging forgiveness.

After another glare Japan let them down again, his eyes being hidden behind that haze again and sweeping himself down to compose himself.

"Yoroshii"

He paused then seemed to go completely back into himself as he spoke again, stuttering now,

"I-I'm sorry, I have to go and meet somebody, adiosu you two"

With that Japan quickly retreated from the two, rustling around in his pocket for his phone, the newest Japanese model on the market of course, and speed-dialled the one he always talked to when something like this happened. America.

While he ran off, Greece and Turkey just looked at each other, both still in visible shock before getting up and sweeping themselves down then looking at each other.

"He's… right…" Greece said first, his voice calm and sleepy again.

"Yeah… he was more angry with me though…"

"No he wasn't he was more angry with me…"

"No, me! Did you see the way he was looking at me! He was definitely glaring at me!"

"He was glaring at me more! He wouldn't even want to look at you with that stupid mask!"

"Oh yeah!?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, I bet I can make you come before I do!"

"You're on! I'll definitely win this time!"

And so the cycle continues.

Meanwhile, having successfully carried out the x2 transition combo, Japan had been bitching all about this to America, using a wide range of expressions as he explained all of the above, including the part about relationships.

"-I mean seriously, those Kusogaki are so annoying! Without me they would have already destroyed each other!"

"Ahmm" America hummed, nodding his head in agreement. They were both sitting in the bar at the moment, America with a light booze and Japan with stiff sake which he was downing quickly.

Japan continued glugging as he went.

"I've been with the both of them for centuries and it's always the same damn thing, they love each other, then they break up and fight and then they fuck each other to loving each other again then it just repeats. In the words of me 'kuso kurae no shin'!"

"Yeah, just let it all out dude. That sounds like hard work to me."

"It is! You don't even know!" Japan breathed a sigh of relief after downing the third sake bottle of the day and then got up slowly, looking at America with blurry eyes "goodbye America, thanks for listening to my complaints so well"

"Hey, it's no prob dude; just don't forget to pay your share."

"Oh, yes, of course."

With slightly fumbling hands Japan picked out his wallet and threw a couple of yen notes onto the bar-stand, confusing the bartender greatly.

"You okay dude? You look like you're a bit tipsy there."

"I'll be okay, thank you for your concern though" and with that Japan stumbled, rather quietly, out of the bar and into the night.

America turned to the bartender and picked up the yen notes, exchanging them for American dollars and adding his own share and a small tip, which appeased the bartender and walked away.

America sipped his booze again and then grabbed his phone from his pocket, the latest American model of course, and dialled a number.

He waited for the phone to ring and then smiled as he heard the sound of somebody picking up.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, hey Andy, Alfred here."

"Oh, Alfred, hi. What's going on?"

"Ah, nothing important. Hey, how's that comic of yours coming along?"

"Webcomic" Andy corrected "and good, I'm just a bit stuck though."

"On what?"

"Well, I want to have this kind of relationship dynamic in the story but I just can't get my head around what to do."

"Ah, then you're in luck my troll buddy."

"Why?"

"Because I might just be able to help you out with your little problem."

"Really? I didn't know you knew anything about relationships."

"Oh yeah dude, I'm a regular Casanova."

"Okay then, do tell…"

And this, fair readers, is where the four quadrants of troll romance originated.


	7. All cats look British in the Dark- Extra

One month later…

It had been a month since England had been transformed back into a human and in that time many things had happened.

For one, the plan that France had made to make America bring England home had been revealed.

It turned out that after France had left America's house that day he had visited for some amiable flirting he had spent a week or so trying to find England's lair, not exactly remembering where it was from the few times he had seen it.

When he had found it and walked down to one of the magic rooms he had found the cloak, the mirrors and the discarded book opened on the wealth spell.

And while France was many things (perverted, annoying, cocky etc.) he wasn't stupid and connected the dots easily enough.

After that he had called England's brothers and, while Scotland couldn't stop laughing in the background, they had agreed to help out, most likely because they all liked the idea of England owing them, some more openly than others.

And so lead to the mockery of a special report that afternoon, broadcasted in America's home by hacking into his signal.

Obviously, they all held this against England when he had returned and so for the past month he had had to be extraordinarily kind to his brothers and while Southern Ireland and Wales didn't seem to take that much advantage.

Scotland (the bastard!) had wanted England to act like a maid and call him 'Master' for helping him. England had taken a page out of Hungary's book and beat his brother up until the other conceded. England reasoned afterwards that it had been partially Scotland's fault he had been turned into a cat in the first place, after all the spell had been written in Scottish Gaelic.

Sealand had asked to be recognized as a true nation and while England was begrudging he allowed it and had taken him to the next world meeting, where Sealand had run, crying, to him saying Russia had given him a scary look and asked if he would like to 'be one with him'. After that Sealand seemed to be more appreciative of his 'micro-nation' status.

Obviously, France had asked for thanks as well, considering he was the one who had called his brothers and had reversed the spell.

Besides various perverted methods of thanking him (which England obviously refused, not blushing to his ears, mind you, not at all), France had given him a strange request.

And I quote:

'Let America pet you once in a while, mon cher.'

It couldn't happen, obviously, even if England did want to be petted again. He didn't have fur and so doubted he would react the same and he also knew (or at least thought) that America wouldn't pet him like that again.

Besides that though, the other thing England had been doing for the past month was the stacks and stacks of work which had piled up during his 'extended holiday'. He had locked himself in his office while he worked and, in absolute irony, had barely seen anyone during that time.

Today promised to be the same, stacked out with work and by the time he was through he would be exhausted.

Yep, just a absolutely normal da-

"England! Dude! Open the door!"

England felt himself jump as he heard the all-too-familiar voice.

It was America, the subject of England's month-long adventure.

Ever since England had turned back, giving a rather embarrassing show and America had hugged him in a dark room; America had seemed to come over more, his visits increasing significantly for seemingly no reason.

England hadn't been able to spend time with the American though and so most of the time America's visits would just end at the door, being turned away by his bosses, still sore about the last time America had come into England's house or by England because he was either too busy or tired to talk to him.

"America, I'm busy, please go away…" England said slowly, rubbing his temple where suddenly a small headache had developed.

"Aw, come one, please England, I've got something super awesome to gi-"

"I'm not interested in your comics or merchandise America…" England cut in, his voice annoyed, hoping it would be enough for America to get that he didn't want him here.

America, however, remained unheeded.

"Is England cranky?" he cooed "I'll just bash down the door then if you don't want to open it."

England was about to say something about America being an idiot and that he was bluffing when he remembered America fighting his guards.

True, all the countries were good fighters (or at least most were), they had to be, but the way America had fought back then…

He got up slowly from his leather chair. He didn't want to have to pay for new oak doors with ornate carvings. He walked over the richly-coloured carpet to the door and when he opened it inwards he found no American standing there.

He looked briefly confused for a moment and then suddenly America came from his left and bashed into him, knocking him back into the room and onto the floor with a heavy thud.

"Got ya!" America said excitedly, straddling England and not noticing the position they were in, where had the sheepish America from that hug gone?

"It's 'I got you'" England said before he noticed and then said, noticing how scandalous this position looked he shouted, rather indignantly "and get off me!"

"Aw, Iggy really is mad at me…" America said smiling, though he got off all the same, England rising quickly and trying not to think what people would have said if someone had seen them.

That was another thing that had changed. Once every little while, America would forget to call England by his nation name and would instead call him the pet name he had given him when he had found him in his lair two months ago.

"Stop calling me that, you idiot!" England snapped back then paused "now what did you want to show me?"

America gave a look which said he didn't know what England was talking about until he suddenly remembered with a finger pointed upwards as if you could see into his thoughts,

"Ah, right! I almost forgot!"

Of course you did..

England thought not surprised.

America started scrabbling around in the pockets of his precious bomber jacket, the same one England had wrapped around his body when he had been naked. He blushed slightly remembering this and looked away. He hadn't really thanked America for that.

"America…" he started.

"Found it!" America proclaimed happily, cutting England off.

England then looked at the item America held in his hand. It was a small square-shaped box, black in colour and fairly simple.

"What is… that?" England said, his mind trying not to go to that solution, America wouldn't propose to him, he wouldn't… would he?

England's fears were reaffirmed when America suddenly bent down on one knee and looked down like he was nervous.

This idiot isn't really going to confess to me, right!? We haven't even dated y-

"England…?" America said slowly

"Y-yes" England stuttered, trying not to blush to his ears or outright reject the American before he had a chance to speak.

"I have something important to give you."

"O-okay… what is it?"

America's hands started to open the box slowly.

Here it goes England, just stay calm and reject him politely, be Japan, be Japan…

"Here!"

In his thoughts England hadn't noticed that he had turned away from the other and as he looked back down again he started saying something about that it couldn't be when he felt a weight on his wrist instead of his ring finger.

He looked down at his rather thin wrist and saw some kind of strange bracelet on it. With America looking up at him he brought his arm up closer to examine the bracelet.

The bracelet was simple in design; dark brown leather with latch similar to that of a watch, pulled tightly enough to fit England's wrist well.

What was the most interesting part of it though was a small metal plate inset in the middle of the bracelet. It had Celtic designs inset into it, coloured the same colour green as his eyes and there, clearly written into the metal was a name and message:

'Iggy.

If found please give back to United States of America.'

Then he realized, it wasn't a bracelet, or at least that hadn't been the original intent… it was a collar.

"What is the meaning of this America!?" England shouted before he could sort everything out in his mind.

"When you were my cat I had completely forgotten to get you a collar." America said, still looking up from the floor "so I thought it'd be cool if I got you one so you'll always remember when you were my cat, sadly they didn't do human-sized collars so I got you a bracelet instead! Do you like it?"

England stood, shocked; America had given him a gift, albeit a weird one.

To distract himself from the blush that was quickly appearing on his cheeks he spoke to America again.

"Then why in the hell are you kneeling?"

"Huh?" America said, head cocked to the side as if he was asked a really weird question "because I wanted to put it on your wrist. Why? What did you think I was doing?"

England looked away quickly, trying not to betray the look which was a combination of emotions, all strange and ones he shouldn't feel. Why was it that he felt the same as the time America had smiled at that cashier girl?

What the hell did that spell do to me?

He knew, a small part of him knew, but he didn't say it.

"N-nothing, I-I thought you w-were doing that and I-I was right"

America paused, his dumb and… handsome eyes, looking sceptical for just a moment, just one moment. Then they reverted and he smiled again, laughing.

"That's cool dude! At least now you have some fashion sense, you can thank me later!" America smirked then, a smug smirk.

England paused. Normally that kind of comment would have angered him… but somehow he couldn't really be angry.

Maybe it was because the gift, while not having the most wholesome implication, did look nice, the Celtic patterns shining from the metal plate.

Maybe it was because he hadn't gotten a gift in a long time, normally receiving bills or long drawn out statements.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because America had given it to him, America the one he had one of the richest histories with, though, in fact it was actually one of the shortest.

"Git…"

America suddenly got up, smiling that idiotic smile.

It meant he was going to do something stupid.

And he did.

He moved his head forward and before England could react their foreheads were together, America leaning down slightly to match England's height.

"You sick dude? You're getting kind of red?"

England hadn't noticed he was blushing, hard, and with the other so close he couldn't hide it anymore.

"I-i…"

"Yes?" America said, giving England a look while still connected to him, seemingly clueless.

"I-i-i…!"

"Stop stuttering dude and tell me." There was a pause. America thought he felt something. A glimmer, a spark, the start of a beautiful flame.

"I-i-i… Idiot!" An suddenly America felt something… pain.

England had punched him in the stomach, sending him backwards.

America made an 'oomph' sound and felt himself be lifted off the ground and fly out the door backwards, landing on the floor outside England's office.

By the time America had realized what had happened the door had already been slammed shut and locked.

Sometimes he did forget that England had been a pirate and empire for a reason.

But somehow he wasn't mad. He got up slowly, rubbing his chin and he was smiling.

He shouted at the door, to the Englishman inside,

"See you next time England! Hope you like your gift!"

And with that he left, running out the front door of England's house with a smile plastered on his face. Maybe he should thank Hungary for getting him that book after all.

On the other side of the door, England sat on the floor, blocking the door with his body.

He was looking at his new bracelet.

And smiling.


	8. PruCan- Say My Name Full

**Say my Name - PruCan**

**This is a small smut on the subject of nations names being very personal and one nation trying to convince another to call them by their human name.**

"Come on!~ Please?" Prussia said as he grabbed Canada around the middle, burying his head into the Canadian's small and somewhat girly frame. It was spectacularly rare for the Prussian to ask for anything, material or otherwise, but this time it was special for two reasons.

I) He was talking to his lover, the awesomely quiet, shy, secretly sexy Canada, who he had been with for a little over a year now.

2) He was asking, while it was the first thing normal humans would do, something that the nations themselves found as personal as two people asking to live together.

He was asking for Canada to call him by his true name.

"N-no Prussia…" the Canadian said, hiding his flushed face behind his polar bear, Kuma-something.

"Why not? We've been going out for a year now and we've done it plenty enough times that you," Prussia pointed at Canada accusingly "can't live without the awesome me, so why won't you call me by my name?"

There was a pause and then a patient voice, as it was stating a fact

"But your name is the most personal thing to you… I was told the only people I was told to give it to are people in my family… and that I love more than anything in the world, even more than maple syrup…"

Prussia growled slightly, getting up from hugging his partner and standing up, looking down at him with an annoyed look.

"What kind of horse-crap has that French bastard been shovelling into you!? It's just a name, my awesome name but just a name nonetheless, it's not like the world will tip up on its head if you call me by name!" he sighed then looked slightly sad, which was almost as rare as him asking politely for something.

The Canadian blushed even more response and continued to tighten his death grip on his polar bear, who growled slightly at the pressure, to which Canada apologized quietly and loosened his grip enough for the bear to struggle away and walk off, leaving Canada undefended.

Canada tried to curl into a ball then, leaning against the back of the sofa he had been sitting on.

"But… it's embarrassing… I mean… you love me enough to tell me your name and I…"

Prussia's expression softened, sometimes his awesome mind did forget that his lover just happened to be one of the shyest countries in the world, despite the fact he was so awesome in and out of bed that Prussia was glad no-one had taken him before he had a year or so ago when they had met after a party, too drunk to know by the time they had completed the third one-night stand that they were in love with each other.

He smiled again and walked forward, bundling the blushy ball of awesomeness in his hands, stroking his blond hair (avoiding the curl he now referred to as 'Canada's Sexy Switch') whispering soothingly in his ear.

"It's not, I love you Canada and don't you ever question that. It would be the most awesome ever if you call me by my name."

"Prussia…" Canada whimpered, still unsure.

Prussia was about to sigh again when suddenly an awesome idea came into his head, an awesome and sexy idea that could only come from his mind.

"Okay then… if you won't say it… then I'll make you, my sexy little Mattie~"

Before Matthew could protest to the use of his name, blushing vividly, he felt _that_ hair (be damned!) be touched and stroked mercilessly.

He groaned loudly, trying to curl further in on himself to block the noises that he couldn't stop coming out of his mouth.

"Oh no you don't!" Prussia said as he went from stroking and jerking the sexy switch to putting his hot tongue on it and licking up and down it at a slow pace.

Matthew shuddered below him and moaned, feeling his body relax without his own consent as a tent quickly appeared in his pants, making them tight and uncomfortable to wear.

"Mnn! P-prussia! S-stop that…"

"You really want me to stop, Mattie?" Prussia chuckled as he saw his lover's cock pushing against his trousers, wanting to come out and be given the attention it wanted "kesesese! You _really _don't want me to stop, do you? Sexy you doesn't lie."

He looked at the Canadian blush horribly, whimpering as his cock twitched against the rough material of his pants.

As Prussia could tell that Matthew was ready he stopped his assault on the other's curl and before the other could react he moved his hands to the other's lump, caressing it lightly through it's material confines, getting a whimper in return and a quick thrust into the touch before the motion was heavily controlled.

"Ready to say it?" he said slowly, looking his lover in the eyes with his blood red eyes showing a lustful smoulder few saw (or would really want to). Prussia was 100% turned on, like he always was with his little Mattie.

Canada gave him a watery look through his glazed purple eyes and biting his bottom lip to muffle the moans slightly.

"N-no… aghh…"

Prussia's eyes gave a glint of annoyance then sparked into full determination again as he grabbed the top of the zip which was confining his lover's need. He quickly yanked it down and fiddled with all the other fastenings until he was able to pull the other's trousers completely off. He got the feeblest bit of resistance, but by now Matthew knew that when it got this far Prussia wouldn't stop until he was done.

He felt the final layer of protection between him and the Prussian, his black boxer briefs, be pulled down with the tenderness of a raging wolf in heat.

Prussia looked at his lover's manhood and reminded himself why Canada was above America on the world map. It was captivating, the way the skin was pulled back from the tip with no shame and the way it was already leaking pre-come and thickening at his breath on it. He reached down to himself and found he had gotten semi-hard too from just looking at the Canadian's weaponry, he was so happy sometimes that Canada didn't notice some things when he was in his lustful haze.

He moved up and moved Matthew's thick winter shirt up slightly. Canada didn't need to be told twice and lifted up his slender arms, letting Prussia pull up his shirt and reveal his model thin body, somewhere between pale and tan and nipples standing erect. Prussia threw the shirt onto the ground and moved in, kissing his lover deeply, coaxing him into opening his mouth and letting him poke his tongue inside and explore, experiencing his taste for what seemed like the billionth time and still loving it.

He nipped his bottom lip and while his lover was distracted, his eyes closed and his body completely relaxed now, Prussia moved one hand up to Matthew's chest and started touching and grabbing everything he could. He gained a gasp for his efforts and a groan when Prussia grabbed one of Matthew's nipples and started playing with it, rolling the flesh around with his thumb and then squeezing it hard with his thumb and fore-finger.

With the other hand he moved down to his own pants and unzipped them, kicking them off and releasing his now fully hard 'five meters of awesome'.

He slowly pulled back from the kiss when they both needed to breathe again and used the opportunity to pull off his own light t-shirt to reveal his own albino body, paler than most but toned, throwing the clothing to the side as he had done with the rest. He smiled down at his sexy little Canadian, trying not to twitch under him with need and want.

"Still won't talk?" Prussia asked, though by now he actually wanted the other to say no so he could continue being a bit rougher than normal with him. Either the Canadian had known what he had been thinking or he was trying to prove he wouldn't break, because he gave a smirk (half-assed but a smirk all the same) and said, in that lovely tone which he didn't know (or maybe did, saucy devil) provoked Prussia,

"No."

Prussia felt himself twitch but quickly covered that up as he pounced on his prey and grabbed the other's cock, pumping him without mercy and hearing him let out delicious moans, though he tried to keep them quiet even now.

"Mnn… ah-hah~" he groaned as Prussia played with the tip "P-prussia…"

"Wrong!" Prussia said, chuckling "you gotta call me by my name Mattie" He growled out the last word and felt a bit of pre-come stain his hand.

He looked down and then smiled, a wide perverted smile.

"Does that turn you on, Mattie?" he said, growling the last word and putting extra empathises on it.

Matthew blushed vividly and ducked his head down, suddenly not knowing where to look. Of course it turned him on! The Prussian's accent, while it annoyed some, had been a great source of sex appeal for him, the way all the words came out blunt and to the point. And when Prussia growled it made him melt from the inside out and want to have him inside him right at that moment.

He looked back after a short while and gave Prussia his most begging look.

"Prussia… p-please… I want it… mnn~"

Prussia felt himself twitch again and the beginnings of a blush come onto his face (not enough to be visible though, the awesome him never blushed, even when his little Canadian was acting so sexy). He growled and quickly moved himself forward, grabbing both of their members now and jerking them in time, letting ou a slight groan at the friction.

He didn't let himself get distracted though and placed some of his fingers towards Matthew's mouth.

"Lick them" he growled in a tone which brooked no argument, not like the other would have argued at this point.

He took them in his mouth and licked them, covering them evenly with his own saliva. Prussia found himself staring at his lovers face again, marvelling at the way he looked so innocent with the light and permanent dusting of a blush due to arousal on his cheeks and yet was doing such a dirty thing with clouded up eyes.

At some point the pulled the fingers away and then his hand from where it had been pumping the two together. He heard Matthew whimper and smiled as he gave a small 'tch' sound and waggled a finger in his lover's face.

"Now, come on, you know what's going to happen next will be better."

He didn't wait for a response as he quickly moved the Canadian's body around so now he was fully lying on the couch, exposing his hole, already slightly twitching. Prussia smiled and didn't waste any time in quickly skimming the outside ring of the hole, gaining a shiver in a response, and then pushing it in, feeling the tightness of his lover squeeze instinctively before relaxing.

The Prussian started to quickly move his finger, thrusting and wriggling it around before he quickly added the second and then felt small and yet deceptively strong hands move his head and then a pair of lips kiss him. Prussia smiled into the kiss as he returned it with all the passion of his people.

After a while he felt the other thrusting back on his fingers and muffled pleas of want. Prussia pulled back from the kiss and added the third finger, hearing a hiss before he silenced it by licking one of Matthew's nipples, turning it into a squeal of stimulation.

Suddenly, he withdrew all the fingers and heard a small 'humph' sound from his lover.

"Aw~ You want me _that _bad? Kesesese~"

He didn't argue though, he was horny too. So he quickly adjusted his position so he was in line with the other's entrance and moved Matthew's legs over his shoulders. He took a deep breath before he slowly moved forward, pushing his dick to the entrance before slowly sinking in.

He almost felt his eyes roll into the back of his head. It was so tight and warm and so… so…. Awesome is the only word he could think of. He slowly pushed in deeper and eventually eh was in, all five metres of him. He let them both prepare and with a single smouldering look at the Canadian (and one back) he pulled back a bit then trusted in, grabbing onto the fabric of the sofa as a brace.

"Ah!" was the only response he got and soon, after a few erratic start-ups he set into a rhythm and started looking round for that all-important sp-

"Ahhh! Holy maple!"

Found it!

He smiled and praised himself for his own sexual awesome before he started thrusting hard and fast into that single spot, grunting loudly as the pressure around him increased and pushed him closer to his release.

After a while the other started twitching erratically underneath him and tried to reach for his dick, meaning he was about to come. Though the haze of sweat moans and rushed breathing, Prussia noticed and swatted away the other's hand and grabbed the base of his cock so he couldn't come without him letting go.

"Ow! Prussia! That's hurts you dick! I wanna come!"

"And you can when you say that single word"

"No!"

"Really?" Prussia trusted hard into the other's sweet spot and felt a shudder pass through the whole of the Canadian's body.

"No!"

"Say it…"

"No!"

"Say it!"

"No…!"

"Say my name… Mattie~" Prussia growled deeply with the heaviest accent he could muster.

"N- Oh, whatever! Let me come, Gilbert~!"

Gilbert smirked wider than any of the other times he had before, a scary thought I know.

He let go of Matthews cock and instantly the other started to come, white spilling onto his chest and a bit on Gilbert and blanking his vision. He continually repeated Gilbert's name, shortening it to 'Gil' a couple of times.

He was extremely tight now and it only took a few more thrusts for Gilbert to go down the same route, spilling inside the other and moaning his name.

"Mattie~"

"Gil…"

Eventually they both stopped shuddering and Gilbert pulled out of Matthew, smirking as he looked into his lover's eyes and then laughing as he kissed him on the cheek.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" He said, now in a much better mood.

Canada looked away for a second and blushed vividly before whispering a quiet

"No…"

He eventually turned back as Prussia hugged him close and snuggled into his chest. He gave a small, shy smile and then hugged the other back.

"I love you, my little Canadian Mattie…"

"Me too Gilbert, me too…"


	9. On rather Soapy Rocks - USUK

**This one is a fluff on England and America having a spat and one storming out (no cookies for guessing who) and then aplogizing later. Hope you like.**

Couples fight. No matter how stable or loving or wonderful they are, they fight sometimes. What I want to see is America and England having a minor fight over something petty and making up. Something more serious than making fun of England's eyebrows, but not the huge blowout where they tear each other down, nearly break-up, and then end in tearful apologies and glorious make-up sex. Just a minor thing where they both snap from stress or lose their tempers, but it can be fixed by a small kind gesture and apology/snuggling.

Bonus: Someone storms out of the room and they spend a few hours cooling down.

Bonus 2: They're both more or less equally at fault, but England is the first to admit he was wrong and do something about it.

Title: On Rather Soapy Rocks

Couples fight, that's a given in any time or place. You know the ones, those little fight you can't remember how they started yet you and your partner were giving each other dirty looks and sleeping in different beds for about three days until you made up because either neither of you could remember how the fight started or one, or both, had caved in due to loneliness and admitted you were wrong.

These kinds of fight happen no matter the gender of the two dating, how good their relationship is… and apparently even if you're a nation.

This is the tale of how England and Ame-

"You wanker!"

Well, there goes my intro but I guess it's better than nothing. This, as you might be able to tell by the colourful yet ineffective-due-to-overuse language, is England, a dirty blond haired nation with emerald eyes, a small and lean build and, most notably to his character, overly bushy eyebrows which could be most aptly described as 'two caterpillars who crawled on his face and died, most likely due to his bad cooking'.

"Dude, seriously stop shouting!"

The other who uses dude in most every sentence when he can, is America. America, land of the free, a more cleanly blond haired, muscled, tall (relative to England), sky-blue eyed and air-headed man who had the innate ability to annoy about half the countries in the world, ignore the other half and terrify one Canadian with a chain-saw. He was also England's lover.

They had been going out for a good few years now and in that time, besides the occasional teasing about the aforementioned eyebrows or butchering of the English language, they worked quite well together, both out and *ahem* in bed.

But right now they were having an argument as you can tell, not about bushy facial features of slang, but something a little more serious yet petty.

Over the last few months, and arguably years, both nations had had pressure piled onto them by their superiors. Economically with England being in the middle of a double-dip recession and America marching on the borderline of one. Along with economic problems, both countries had been subjected to various political fallacies and now things were coming to a head.

But the one thing that had tipped them over the edge, the one little itsy-bittsy detail that had sparked this argument had been… the washing machine breaking down.

No, I am not kidding. You see, while England and America were going out they didn't cohabitate with one another. America would just come on frequent 'business trips' to England and England would do the same, as well as meeting up at the World conferences, which lead to some interesting stories involving a closet, a rather know-it-all Frenchman and an explanation about a ghost in the building.

Anyway, having gone on a business trip to England, surprisingly legitimate this time, America had come to England's house to meet with his lover and after having *ahem again* met him, England had gone to wash the sheets of his bed, grumbling to himself both about the pain in his ass and hips as well as the sticky sheets while secretly smiling to himself.

America had been sitting in the living-room, having dressed again to his disappointment as he knew what that meant, and was watching TV when suddenly England had burst out of his washing room, the door making a sound thwack against the wall as at first he shouted incoherent swears in English, Gaelic, Celtic and a mixture of other British languages until he centred his sights on America like a submarine.

"You idiot!" England shouted.

"What did I do?!" America asked, his voice indignant but not angry.

"The washing machine's broken and now I can't washed the damned sheets of our… fluid" England blushed but was quick to cover it up by shouting again "and guess what make the damn washing machine is! American! God help me why does all the stuff you make have to break when it's needed most!?"

America glared now, yes I said glared, that's rare. If there was a list of things you never said to America unless you wanted a nuke in your head, which there probably is somewhere, then there would be three major things you don't diss:

America's fast-food.

America's awesome constitution of awesome.

And

America's electrical appliances.

"It's not my fault that when you touch stuff it instantly breaks!" he shouted with more than a hint of hurt pride.

England could hear that easily and pressed his advantage.

"Oh yeah?! Then why don't you fix it Mr Awesome handyman?"

"I will! Then you'll thank me!"

Two long hours, a broken pipe, a water leakage, a late-night call out to the plumber (who said he could stop the water leaking but not fix the washing machine until the next day) later…

"Heh…" came a rather cocky yet irritated smirk from a certain Englishman.

"Not a word…"

"How could I not say anything about that!? I told you it wouldn't work and now you just made me have to pay out forty bloody quid's worth of repairs because you can't control your super-strength!"

"It's not my fault my manly muscles are so awesome that even my own inventions break under my grip. Besides," America smirked "who wanted me to use all that 'super-strength' earlier on?"

A deep blush and then an indignant shout which surely reverberated off the walls.

"You wanker!"

"Dude, seriously stop shouting!"

Sound familiar? After a few more jabs at each other, America, rather surprisingly asked a good question.

"Why can't we just sleep on the bed without the sheet?"

"Because I will not sleep on a bed without a sheet"

"Why do you only have one sheet?"

"Because I find having loads of unnecessary cloth around the house, getting dusty is a waste of space and good fabric! Stop questioning me!"

With that England stomped rather loudly out of the living-room and holed up in the bathroom, curling in on himself trying to calm himself down.

While among the soaps and tissues England sighed. It's been about three hours since he had stomped out of the living-room and now he was starting to feel really embarrassed about the whole thing, not like he'd ever admit that.

_I mean, who gets that angry over a washing machine… I'm a nation god-damn it, I could just buy a new one!... I shouldn't have insulted him like that…_

It took England about thirty minutes more, however, to decide he should apologize and go to America and maybe be a bit affectionate. Because, despite his, as Japan called it, 'Tsundere' exterior he really did love the American and realized just now that he rarely ever said it.

He slowly, ever so slowly, opened the bathroom door. It was past midnight by now and England was tired and had to work tomorrow, he had to do this quickly and yet not seem like he was running back to the other, which he was technically, but he didn't have to show it damn it.

He moved slowly back to the living-room to see America was now leaning against the back of the couch and silently snoring.

That git, I come here to apologize and he ends up being asleep!

England made an 'humph' sound and thought of walking away but in the end a deep sense of love won out and he walked over to the other, examining him as he his body rose and fell somewhat evenly.

Now that England had gotten this far he wasn't going to go back but he didn't really want to go forward either.

Again he sighed.

Come on… it's just a kiss; you've done much worse stuff with him…

He looked at the American's face and smiled at how serene it looked, using that smile that was only for America (though even he rarely saw it, England hoped). With a bit more encouragement he moved forward and, still rather timidly, kissed his American lover on the lips.

It tasted like junk-food but also sweet things, like bubble-gum and cotton candy. England smiled again, savouring the taste.

Suddenly there was a movement and before the Brit could even think of moving away he was encased in a bear-like hug by the younger yet stronger nation and he could feel a smile in the kiss as it was returned.

England blushed but couldn't move away, not like he wanted to, and soon he felt himself melt into the kiss.

He was so wrapped up in it that when America finally pulled back so they could breathe he audibly whimpered, causing America to chuckle.

"You feeling better now?" America asked playfully

Normally, England would have denied that to high hell and back but right now he was too relieved, too love drunk and too needing of America's warm smile to care.

"Y-y-yeah" he stuttered out and blushed, America smiling too and hugging the other close.

"Great!"

"A-america…" England said slowly

"What is it, dude?" America said, feeling England pull back just a bit. "what you wanna say?"

"W-well…" there was a moment of silence "I-I'm sorry f-fo-"

The rest of the sentence was cut off as he was dragged down with the American and hugged into his strong chest.

"Don't worry dude. I'm sorry too you know, you're my awesome Iggy and ain't no electrical appliance gonna separate us!" He chuckled "what kind of hero would I be if I let my super-rival be an old heap of junk?"

England was silent for a moment then chuckled himself, snuggling into the American's chest, not even bothering with the fact he had been called his pet name.

He realized again that he was tired and as the relief and the American's warmth filled him he yawned a little then moved up slightly to curl his face into the little gap between America's neck and chest, finding a comfortable position and then gently hugging the other back, his eyes now half-lidded.

America at this moment was glad England wasn't looking up because the most obvious blush was now crossing his face, making him uncharacteristically nervous.

"D-dude, you really wanna sleep here?" He said, trying and partly failing to cover up his stuttering.

"It's alright… I'm tired and I told you, I won't sleep on a bed with no sheets…"

America smiled

"Okee-dokiee, then"

And with that the two of them slowly started to drift into the dream world. Just before they fell asleep though England said something.

"America? You asleep?"

"Nope, not yet… what is it?"

"I… love you…"

"Me too England… I love you too"

And with they closed their eyes and fell asleep.

The idiot couple lives on.


	10. Heart-shaped Curl - Pt 1 Spamano

**This is second longer kink meme request based on Romano's heart-shaped curl. Hope you like this!**

**The full title is: The Discovery and Experimentation of the Heart-shaped Curl.**

It was the biggest discovery since man realized it could rub two rocks and maybe some sticks together to make fire. Yeah, I know that's not really likely but when you're Spain and have seen something like he did you would think the same.

The discovery? Well, let me tell you from the beginning.

They had been at a world conference when it had started. It was the middle of summer and the room in the middle of Madrid was as hot as hell, not like the tanned Spaniard would notice that. The heat passed by him like water off a duck's back while all the other nations seemed to be sweating profusely and had evacuated some of their outer layers, America's prized bomber jacket hanging on his chair, exposing his toned arms to a hot-under-the-collar England, who was cursing how his overly bushy eyes brows trapped the heat against his face.

Very few countries didn't seem to be bothered much by the heat except Spain. Russia was sitting there, in full winter uniform and wearing his scarf with a serene expression on his face as normal. Italy was wearing his normal attire, an overheated Germany looking at him with equal measure of admiration and envy.

And finally, the one of whom this discovery circulates around, the beautiful – he preferred to be called handsome, if at all, but this is Spain's story so it's either going to be beautiful or cute - Romano, or Roma as Spain tended to shorten it to.

He was looking disdainfully at Spain saying how sweet and juicy tomatoes were this time of year and that he should try some and maybe stay over for a while.

Little bit of backstory here, Romano and Spain had been secretly dating for much of the past year, Spain having begged so much and so pathetically that Romano had to say 'yes' just to shut him up – though he'd never admit that he actually really liked Spain.

During this time they had struck a deal that Spain could go out with Romano as long as nobody knew about their relationship, in other words, no PDA at any time or place.

For the most part, Spain had stuck to the deal, afraid that Romano really would dump him if he broke it, though that didn't stop him wanting to just kiss and hug and do… dirty things, in public places when his little Romano was being so cute.

Sadly, also because of this, Spain could never get any affection from Romano when they were out together; it was a rare enough event when they were alone but when they weren't Romano would stay cold and distant, sometimes slightly depressing the Spaniard.

Now, going back to the semi-current time, Spain was still talking extensively about Romano visiting, smiling that excited smile of his when suddenly he felt himself go onto a different train of thought. Well, it was the same train going completely the wrong way, Spain's thoughts spiralling into walking hand in hand with Romano in Venice and then going down an alley where they woul-

It wasn't until now that he noticed he had been speaking out everything he had been thinking about, thankfully only loud enough that Romano could hear him, and looked ahead of him to see Romano trying not to blush furiously, his eyes stuck between rage and worry.

Then there was something else, the thing that would spark off all the events concerning hereafter. Romano's gravity-defying curl, which he always said he hated but never cut off for some reason, was bent out of its normal spiral-like shape and the end had now become a rather awkwardly-shaped yet simple to understand heart.

A heart!? Yeah, I know, weird huh?

Well, Spain had thought this too and would have questioned the logic of it if it had not been for the over-powering feeling of happiness which engulfed his body and would have made him start laughing and dancing around if he hadn't been in a world meeting and Romano wasn't giving him death glares as the curl returned back to normal. The meeting seemed to pass extremely quickly and yet slowly after that.

Many would say Spain was air-headed, moronic and completely embarrassing (well maybe just Romano) but one good, or maybe bad, thing that Spain was that he was very clear about what he wanted.

And he wanted to see Romano's curl turn into that deliciously cute heart-shape again. And he would do anything for that to happen.

Cue experiment 1.


	11. Heart-Shaped Curl Part 2

**Experiment 1.**

**Does it work when Romano is happy?**

I know what you're thinking, Romano, happy? Never.

Well, you'd be mostly right; the embodiment of South Italy had never been like his brother in the way he always seemed to be so enthusiastic and happy about every single thing, from Germany, to pasta, to Germany, to hot girls, to Germany, did I already say that he loves Germany? I did? Oh well, just clearing that up.

Anyway, while Romano would more likely punch you in the face and call you a bastard than laugh at a joke, he occasionally, and that's as occasional when there are two blue moons in the same month and pigs flying with fluffy angel wings, gives the ghost of a smile when he thinks no-one is looking.

Of course, getting him to smile willingly was a different challenge altogether. Spain had always told Romano since he was little that he should smile more like his younger brother, now that he knew how secretly -okay, not so secret but, hey, Spain was even a legendary moron back then- jealous Romano was of his brother he wasn't exactly surprised the other's smiles had become so rare.

At first, Spain had simply wanted to make Romano smile and see what happened but because some sense had accidently penetrated his skull he figured out that doing that would take too long.

So, in the end, he had decided that instead of trying to make Romano smile he would do things which would make other people smile and see if his curl would form into a heart, which would prove it made that crude heart shape when he was happy, which was great for Spain to assess Romano's mood.

**Phase 1**

**Clever puns**

Puns are the lowest form of humour. Well, they're the easiest and cheesiest anyway. The major draw of a pun is that it's funny because it's bad and gives the chance for some people to drop in a reference for something they wouldn't openly say they liked into conversation.

And so started the first phase of the experiment. The plan was for Spain to drop in a good pun when the chance arrived and see if Romano – or to be more correct, Romano's curl – reacted.

At the next world conference after discovering the heart-shaped curl, he initiated his plan.

Up first was China, talking about his economy in his overly-effeminate-yet-not voice with the occasionally 'aru' when he didn't hold it in.

Spain started to search in his mind for a pun, no I don't mean think of one on the spot, I mean remember one from the extensive list he had complied from looking at around five pages while searching 'Clever Puns' on Goggle.

After a while he remembered one and poked Romano, who had just happened to be sitting next to him *cough*changed seating plan*cough*.

Romano was lying his head on his hands and trying to catch up on the sleep he had lost due to jet-lag, looking extremely adorable as he twitched at Spain's touch and groaned. He probably shouldn't have been sleeping in a meeting but

1) Nobody wanted to get death glares from Romano.

2) They didn't really notice him that much.

And

3) They were all similarly jet-lagged themselves, probably why nothing ever really got done at these meeting in the first place.

For a while Romano remained despondent but after persistent poking he grumbled and turned to the side a little and glared at Spain, growling a 'What…' quietly, it wasn't really a question.

"Hey Romano" Spain whispered down to his boyfriend, "what's purple and 5000 miles long?"

No response.

"Oh come on Romano~ You gotta ask me 'Oh, my sweet darling Spain, I don't know, what is purple and 5000 miles long?~'"

Still no response.

"Please…" Spain didn't want to do this but he started using his puppy-dog face. It was surprising what an effect that had on the Italian as he turned to glare into the wood of the table, just barely saving himself from blushing as he grumbled a small.

"What?" again, this time, more phrased like a question.

"The grape wall of China"

Not even a titter, but Spain had expected that, he looked at the curl though and almost sighed when he saw it had not even twitched out of it's spiral.

Phase 1 had failed.

**Phase 2**

**Witty Wordplay**

It was once said, and mostly ignored, by England that wordplay was 'the humour of gentlemen'.

Wordplay is different from puns in which they work more, in a sense that wordplay can be played off as either a so-bad-it's-funny joke, an I'm-gonna-twist-around-everything-you-say-and-make -it-an-insult joke or an everything-has-to-have-something-to-do-with-sex joke. This makes it a flexible joke type and so used by a variety of personalities, from the smooth and witty gentleman to the snarky and perverted Frenchman.

After the first phase had failed Spain had been quick to get back on his feet again. He'd made a back-up plan in case the first one had failed. The second phase would work much like the first, Spain waiting until he had a good chance and then talk to Romano.

To avoid either annoying Romano more than normal, meaning it wouldn't work, or him discovering what Spain knew, which would probably lead to a mangled Spanish body in the streets of New York, Spain waited until after the rather sparse lunch of hamburgers and fries to start his plan.

Straight after lunch a new set of talks had started, this time England starting. He was talking about some bullshit to do with international trade and halfway through Spain could just hear Romano grumbling next to him.

"God this guy is boring, who the fuck cares about this stuff anyway?"

Spain chuckled; while the age of pirates on ships had passed he and England still were not on the best terms with one another. Partway through his chuckling he realized this would be the best opportunity for some word-play. He smiled and quickly managed to remember one.

"Yeah, I'd call him a sadistic, hippophilic necrophile, but that would be beating a dead horse"

The word 'hippophilic' came out slightly weird as Spain said it and while the first and last word made sense for England, he had never been exceptionally partial to horses.

He looked at Romano and instead of having no response Romano said something, grumbling it quietly.

"Hey Spain, what's the plural of hippopotamus?"

Spain's eyes widened in confusion, why did Romano want to know that? He answered anyway, taking it as a chance to prove he was intelligent.

"Why, Romano, that's easy, the plural of hippopotamus is hippopotami."

"Okay, what's the plural of whatafollamus?"

Spain answered quickly, not really listening to the obvious message in the words.

"Easy again, that's whatafoolami!"

A pause.

"Exactly."

It even took a Spain a few minutes after that comment to realize what he had said. He turned to Romano but the Italian was simply watching England talk, no smile on his lips and no heart in his curl but the tiniest spark of pride in his eyes.

Phase 2 had failed… and had been embarrassing to boot.


End file.
